


Puzzles

by Aate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sorrow, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whiskey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 20:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: It was a Christmas gift for Cas, but the son of a bitch never got around to putting it together.Dean tries to deal with Cas' death. Or rather, he doesn't.





	Puzzles

It was a constant throb behind his sternum. Rubbing his chest didn’t help, and while the burn of whiskey did dull the ache, the remedy lasted only for as long as he kept on drinking. Afterwards, later, he was left with a headache nearly as bad as the ache in his chest and then there was no cure to either, none but time, some sorry asses might have claimed.

He yelled at Sam for trying to hide the bottles. He yelled at Sam for suggesting they’d spend the evening together by playing Scrabble. He yelled at Sam because Sam _was there_ and anger felt better than the ache in his chest – because anger could drown the pain temporarily almost as well as the burn of alcohol.

Jack, him Dean tried to ignore, with no success; the kid was imitating Cas. It felt like mockery, coming from the son of Lucifer, and while it was impossible to say whether Jack did it on purpose or not, Dean knew enough of the world to suspect the latter – perhaps Jack did it just to get to him.

“If you tilt your head one more damn time,” Dean told him through gritted teeth, “I’ll go get my dullest butcher knife and cut if off, and I’m sure as hell not kidding.”

Startled blinking. Then, frowning in concentration, Jack made a clear effort to balance his head on his shoulders in as straight a manner as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he said with so much sincerity Dean’s irritation with him only grew. “It felt easier to contemplate on what you’re doing with my head slightly tilted, but if that offends you, I will do my best to not do it again.”

A hopeful look, curious eyes regarding Dean with trust he didn’t deserve and admiration he sure as fuck didn’t want. The steady gaze reminded Dean of Cas, and the ache in his chest was suddenly so overwhelming he fumbled for another mouthful of whiskey to dull it enough to get air into his lungs.

“Fuck you,” his voice was hoarse when he finally managed to speak, the whiskey still burning in his throat. “Fuck you.”

He didn’t know to whom he was saying it, to Jack, Cas, himself. Lucifer.

It didn’t matter.

Not much did.

He was sitting on the couch with a puzzle poured over the couch table. 1000 pieces, or some shit. It had been gathering dust in Dean’s closet, waiting for Christmas, wrapped in a cheesy red wrapping paper, one with flying reindeer and smiling snowmen, the one Cas had admired at a gas station in Minnesota.

“Did someone break your painting?”

Dean ignored the softly spoken question in order to fit pieces together with one hand, holding the bottle in the other. It was the cheap kind, the whiskey. Bad, and cheap, and strong, and perfect for Dean.

“Are you attempting to fix it?”

While Dean had never cared for puzzles, Cas had been fascinated, occasionally making polite enquiries whether “now would be a suitable time” for him to “test his ingenuity by putting pieces together in a logical way, in order to arrive at the correct solution”. They hadn’t had any puzzles at the time – the bunker wasn’t exactly filled with games and toys of that kind – but Dean had found a nice one at Tesco, one of a lake landscape or something, and he had wrapped it by himself, cheered by the thought of Cas later unwrapping the gift.

Dean now ignored the wrapping paper torn and crumbled up in the corner where it had landed and focused his efforts in putting the damn puzzle together like Cas had been supposed to do.

Pain, piercing behind his sternum – deep sorrow he was determined to leave unacknowledged. Another mouthful of whiskey burnt it down, momentarily.

What had Dean even been thinking, that they’d all wear silly sweaters and drink eggnog and sing carols through December like a normal happy family? Yeah, fuck his wishes, and fuck him, and fuck Cas in particular. The son of a bitch should have still been alive, should have outlived Dean by far. Cas had deserved better than to get stabbed in the back by _filth_.

“Can I-“

“Shut up.”

Whatever Jack wanted to say, Dean didn’t want to hear it.

What he wanted was out of his reach.

**Author's Note:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts, especially as this is my first fic in this fandom!


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